


A Hobo, Two Meatshields, One Mage, and the Local

by gumbal1



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Adventure, Black Comedy, Drug Use, High Fantasy, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, LGBTQ Character, Other, Rise of the Runelords, With apologies to NOFX
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 17:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14383491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gumbal1/pseuds/gumbal1
Summary: Sheila Evergreen is a perpetually high blight druid in worship of the horseman of pestilence. Alaric Sunblade is the blade of Sarenrae, the voice of the gods, and too attractive for his own good. Jekk Flameshot is an adventurer always looking for the best way to kill something. Gro'lak is a fighter training very hard, in the hopes that someday he'll be strong enough to kill his mother and take over the clan. Heingheist is a power-hungry wizard.Together, they fight Runelords.





	A Hobo, Two Meatshields, One Mage, and the Local

**Author's Note:**

> I promised my friends I was gonna chronicle our campaign, and so be it. Characters are:  
> Sheila Evergreen: Blight Druid (I play her)  
> Jekk Flameshot: Grenadier Alchemist (formerly gunslinger)  
> Gro'lak: Two-Handed Fighter  
> Alaric Sunblade: Oradin (and future Holy Vindicator)  
> Heingheist: Evoker Wizard

_Sheila knew the abomination eating away at her form was Janice. How could it not be? Behind the tusked face, bleeding sockets besides a glaring yellow eye, Janice was clearly there, and always would be._

_Not that it mattered. Soon, there wouldn’t be much left to eat._

_Her bed, a rough hammock that creaked with her joints, swayed gently, rocked by a wind that threatened to flense the wrinkled skin off Sheila’s near-skeletal frame as it screamed through the malformed trees of the Mushfens. Had she the strength, Sheila might have wrapped herself tighter in her ragged hide blankets. Instead, she pressed what little she held into her face, taking what was almost certainly her last whiff of the familiar dampness._

_A figure either broke through the darkness or cast its shadow over Sheila; she wasn’t quite sure. Tall, with a chiseled physique and the head of a ram, the figure was attended by several angelic nutrias, and bore a great, shining scythe. Slowly, he knelt down onto the grass besides Sheila’s form, piercing red eyes looking upon her with pity._

_Presenting his scythe, Father Scrapie said five words:_

_“It’s been a pleasure, Sheila.”_

* * *

 

Sheila Evergreen found herself poked awake by the blunt end of a Sandpoint watchmen’s halberd.

“Get up, vagrant. Streets ain’t no place for you to be sleepin’.”

Sheila shivered as she rose from her alleyway bedding, and blearily looked at the rugged half-orc who roused her. “Ah, sorry. I was...passing through, and this looked like a nice place to, well...rest.”

“It’s not.”

Sheila solemnly nodded, awkwardly picking up her things (mostly, aside from her Scissor Sister, kept in the frayed pack she nicked off that one dead wizard) shuffling off in whatever direction would take her out of the watchman’s sight, shivering the entire way. She couldn’t quite remember the street she had decided to crash on; she never quite could. Still, just a moment of peace and quiet, and she’d be good.

Ducking into the first alley she could find, Sheila hurriedly took out her pouch, nearly spilling it all onto the rough-hewn stone of the alley ground.

She’d have to refill her stock soon. That tidbit slipped her mind as the mushrooms began taking their effect, and the shivering was replaced with a familiar warmth.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sheila began exploring the streets of this city she couldn’t quite remember entering.

If she had to guess, it was around noon when she began. Sungazing wasn’t her forte and her eyes didn’t like it, so that was her best guess for the thirty seconds it took to blink the sunspots out of her eyes, the last ten of which were spent nearly tripping over a very cross looking blue-haired child. Her apology sounded somewhere between a mumble and a shout as she ambled down the muddy streets of the only slightly familiar town.

Last night, she had decided that her first point of order was the sneak into the sewer system to check up on the local rat population. At that moment, however, Sheila decided her first order of business would be to get some food, a decision justified equally by the rumblings in her stomach and the fact that she only vaguely recalled last night’s promise. Either way, stocking up on rations never hurt anyone.

Sniffing the air and finding naught but wet soil, Sheila’s eyes darted around until they landed on a wayward lizard.

* * *

 

Okay, maybe lizard wasn’t a Sandpoint delicacy. Sue her. But other people should at least be kind enough to make eye contact.

Sheila’s stomach rumbled just a wee bit less as she swallowed the last gamy bits of lizard meat. If she didn’t vomit (and she rarely did), that’d hold her over until around five. Until then, it was off to help Sandpoint’s brave rat population survive this supposed “cleansing” coming over the town.

If only she could find the sewers.

She needed leads, Sheila thought, as her valuable attention span was nearly pulled away to focus on a burgeoning argument between a shirtless orc and a scholarly-looking fellow that, given Sheila’s current linguistic abilities, she wasn’t quite able to understand. Still, asking around for the sewers would be a tad direct, and risks triggering some sort of counter-investigation if her fears were correct. Maybe she should wash her clothes first, look less like someone sympathetic towards rats (though the idea that anyone might have somehow disliked rats was revolting. Who could hate a face like that?), perhaps take a swim. A swim might be nice.

Sheila’s train of thought nearly derailed as she found herself absentmindedly heading into what looked like a tavern, and derailed completely as she dodged a particularly drunk dwarf hurled towards the exit by a gruff-looking bearded man that, even from here, smelled strongly of coffee and...something else.

“Come back when you’re sober enough. Or don’t. Not my problem.” The strange man headed (back?) to his seat, to the light applause of the tavern, which looked significantly more packed than Sheila was used to and smelled quite a bit nicer as well.

Well, if there was ever a place to start...

Surprisingly, few people stared as she ambled inside. She attributed that to the heavy fragrance currently soaking the tavern, which unfortunately reminded her stomach that raw lizard (indeed, most things she found on someone’s wall) was a poor substitute for human food. The solution, she figured, was to awkwardly sit down at the counter and wait for the innkeeper to come up and take her order. Maybe then she could strike up conversation, get more info.

Currently, the bartender was busy mixing some complicated-looking spirit on the other side of the bar. She’d have better luck trying the locals, she thought, turning to her right to face a bluish looking woman, and promptly finding herself distracted at the woman’s impressive array of facial piercings. However, fascinating as the woman’s face (and, come to think of it, muscles) was, Sheila probably shouldn’t be staring for as long as she had, turning back to her wait a minute this plate of food wasn’t here a moment ago.

In the time Sheila had spent examining her uncomfortably attractive neighbor, the bartender had, unannounced, placed...well, Sheila couldn’t quite tell what it was, but it looked and smelled like food. Good food, at that.

“Happy Swallowtail Festival, stranger. Drinks are extra.”

Sheila awkwardly nodded, picked up her utensils, and dug in.

* * *

 

"You look like you need a drink, little lady.”

“I’m fine.” Sheila responded through her tears.

Why did the food here have to be so damn spicy? Sure it was good, but that didn’t give her the right to mess with her like this!

Sheila’s attention was currently split between the smokey-looking bearded man fidgeting with an odd device in the corner, the weird man who sat down to talk to her, and her own spice-induced suffering. Given that the middle one was actively engaging her, he was currently winning out. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing but she was making friends and that’s what ultimately mattered.

“Come on, I know Ameiko’s cooking.” Sheila didn’t but by now the odd man had already waved over the bartender, who was currently pouring a thick brown liquid into a mug. “Look like you could use something to wash it down.”

Sheila was about to protest when the thick brown drink was slid in front of her.

The drink didn’t taste good (most didn’t) but it helped to wash out the burning sensation. She supposed that counterbalanced both her free lunch’s spice and its taste. At least it filled her up.

“Where are my manners? I’m Venar.” If Sheila had to guess, Venar was a fair bit older than her, probably 32 or something, and also didn’t look like a swamp hobo, which meant the two probably didn’t have very much in common. Still, this counted for making friends, and maybe that meant she’d have a quicker path to the sewers. “You’re not from here, are you?”

She wasn’t, in fact, from here! “Oh, no, I-”

“Let me guess: Osirion? I’ve never been there, personally, but I’ve heard suck lovely things…” As Venar prattled on, Sheila tuned out, glancing back towards Ameiko(?) who, nodding in return, began pouring another drink.

* * *

 

“So then the dolphin-headed thi-”

“Yes, that’s-that’s very nice, Kevin.”

“Venar.”

“Okay.” Sheila was on her third drink by now, and while the mushrooms weren’t entirely mixing well with the spirits, their spirited fighting was enough to distract her from Venar’s ramblings. Either the liquid courage had finally gotten to her or the sheer repulsion coming off her neighbor had shattered any sort of barriers she once had, because if Kevin...Venar, whatever. Sheila turned to her other, far more attractive neighbor, currently nursing the tail-end of some kind of clearish concoction.

“H-hi.” It wasn’t a good opening move, but it was the best her current brainpower ran on. “I’m Sh-sheila. Did you-”

The piercing woman turned to look at her with a face somewhere between...something? Reading emotions was not quite Sheila’s strong suit right now, but it looked vaguely like she’d blown her chances.

Either way, the woman turned back to the counter, coughed, and slapped a gold piece onto the countertop, before turning tail (literally, now that Sheila actually looked) and getting out of her seat.

Sheila sighed, turning back to her drink, which now tasted oddly salty. “-feat taxes levied by Pei Zo, you know how it is…”

...wait, was this drink always salty, or were the mushrooms fucking with her?

Sheila waved over Ameiko, who appeared to be talking with the blue woman from earlier.  Her brow (probably) furrowed as she looked over to Sheila. “Miss? Was this-”

Ameiko swiftly (and if she was being honest, quite rudely) took Sheila’s drink right out of her hands. “Iiiiiiiii think you’ve had enough for one day.” Sheila made a grumble in protest, coinciding with an attempt to leave her seat that ended with her resting her head against bar counter, casting a light orison on and off on an unattended bottle in protest.

The wood was surprisingly soft.

* * *

 

Sheila must have dozed off, because she awoke to a small little fellow in face-obscuring doctor’s clothes standing on the stool next to her. Well, more specifically, the sound of glass shattering against someone’s face (along with their accompanying scream) probably did the trick.

Sheila yawned as she got up, blearily examining her new companion. “Who’re...who’re you?”

“Ah, you’re awake!” The doctor(?) seemed to perk up immediately. “I’m the esteemed Doctor Chomsky! What about you?”

Sheila began to speak, but yawned halfway through. Why was she so tired all of a sudden? “I’m...Sheila. Sheila Evergreen...”

Sheila fell back asleep.

* * *

 

_Apollyon’s throne room is littered with used syringes, dirty bandages, and the assorted fluids of aeons worth of petitioners begging for a merciful end. One would do be to tread carefully; yet Janice’s grip on Sheila meant the poor child could do naught but crawl._

_Every inch Sheila crawled towards the Prince of Plagues was riddled with an unspeakable agony. Even so, it would be worth it. The glorious figure of Apollyon towered over her pitiful form, wearing the look of a father watching as death stole his child out from under him. It would be but several more feet before Sheila would make it, but the Usher of the Black Rain, raised high above Father Scrapie’s head, would deliver her soon enough._

_The black dog’s kiss wracked her body, leaving her with barely enough strength to do much but crawl forward. Praises to Apollyon hung on her tongue, with naught the energy to speak. Sheila almost felt bad the her prostration was a necessity rather than a choice, given her current state._

_After what felt like centuries, Sheila could crawl no more, collapsing at the feet of Apollyon’s throne. Apollyon’s scythe came down..._

_...nothing._

_It took a while for Sheila to notice, but her legs were suddenly free of Janice’s grip. Standing up, it was evident that quite a bit of the Throne of Flies had changed._

_The decor was the most obvious thing missing from her original vision: every bit of detritus degraded into a swampy stew, mixing with the assorted biles to form a magnificent garden of fungi that chirped, squeaked, and croaked with vermin. Compounding on the oddly serene mood, Abaddon’s red sun looked to have finally set, replaced with a gentle, moonlit fog, creeping slowly through the open windows. Janice was gone; indeed, Apollyon himself was missing from the picture._

_And yet sitting on the Seat of the Throne of Flies was an oddly luminescent butterfly._

* * *

 

Sheila Evergreen found herself shaken awake by warm gauntlets.

“Are you quite alright?”

Sheila immediately pulled away from the touch, slapping at the gauntlets with a quickness that soon faded into a pounding headache and horrible queasiness. “I’m…” Her next words were quite unfortunately interrupted by a familiar nausea rising up from her stomach, at which point she quickly stumbled out of the bar.

Sheila immediately dropped to her hands and knees, and expelled the half-digested fruits of today’s misadventure from her stomach into a patch of grass.

Shivering once more, Sheila took a minute to regain her bearings, before weakly standing. Her stomach was hurting again and her fingers jittered and shook as she reached for her mushroom pouch. People were staring but fuck ‘em, not like they never saw someone stumble out of a tavern to vomit onto the dirt.

It took a few seconds to get the latch off, and by the time Sheila was finally able to take her medicine, she turned back around to face an inhabitant of this town almost as out of place as her. Tall, radiant, and wearing polished scale armor, the man before her looked like he should have been fighting shoggoths in Ustalav, or jumping into the Worldwound to fistfight Rovagug. Something like that. The mushrooms were kicking in and Sheila didn’t know enough about history to be judging people.

“Er...ma’am? May I help you?”

“Oh...oh!” Sheila blunk back to semi-lucidity, only now realizing she’d been awkwardly staring at the new person for well over however long she’d been staring at the new person. Time was an illusion. “Sorry, I’m...hungry.” Which was true, but not quite why she was staring.

The mystery man nodded. “I...suppose so.” His eyes briefly darted to the ground, before looking back. “Well, there’s...bound to be food at the festival.”

Oh, right! The festival!

“Either way, did you-”

Sheila ran off down the end of the road that sounded the liveliest.

* * *

 

So it turned out lizard _was_ a sandpoint specialty, as long as you dipped it in hot oil and breadcrumbs, then shoved a stick through it.

Sheila was currently had around two (and a half) of said specialties in her hands, along with some spindly sugar confection and fried breads, and what was _probably_ a stuffed cacodaemon doll; it’d been a while since she’d seen one in person. Not since Aunt Janice...something with Aunt Janice. Right now she was distracted by a crowd of people oohing and ahhing as they stared at the ground.

Finishing one of the fried lizards, Sheila gently pushed her way through to the center of the crowd...and came face to face with what looked like a lizard race.

One of the lizards, a frilled one painted a dark blue, looked up at Sheila, who at this point wasn’t quite sure what to do with its tasty, tasty brethren she currently held skewered on a stick. Out of habit at this point, she took another bite of the crunchy, salty goodness; in response, the lizard did a few push ups, which Sheila supposed put her in the clear.

“Come, one and all, to see the Sandpoint Dragon Races!” Sheila’s attention quickly turned to the crier, a mustachioed middle-aged man wearing a gaudy purple and red striped suit. “Bets are 3 to 1 on the final game o’ the hour! Last place is cooked and eaten!”

Sheila glanced back to the dark blue lizard, who was still doing push ups.

“Excuse me? Sir?” Sheila broke through the crowd, nearly stepping on a rocky-looking fellow painted to resemble living magma. She waved over to the ringmaster, who was currently talking a shifty-looking half-elf in a blue vest. “How much for the blue one?”

The ringleader looked over, presumably confused but Sheila couldn’t imagine why. “Er...what?”

“The blue one.” Sheila pointed back to the blue one, who was currently biting its tail. “How much is it?”

“Oh, Kazavon!” The crier immediately beamed. “Well, _he’s_ not for sale...but that doesn’t mean a...lovely lady like you can’t bet on his chances in the upcoming race! Now, would you like to-”

Sheila shoved five gold pieces into the man’s hand before walking over to Kazavon.

“Hey, bud.” Kazavon looked up, still gnawing at the end of his tail. “Do you know why you’re here? I’ll admit I don’t. Daddy Steven says it’s to kill people, or something. But I guess it’s not...like that. Or maybe it is. But I don’t think it is.” Sheila kneeled down to Kazavon’s level, booping his nose. “Sure, people die, and stuff. But it’s what we do before we die that matters, I think. I dunno who it matters to, but someone’s gotta care. Even if that someone’s yourself.”

“So do your best out there, okay?”

* * *

 

Well, she was down five gold and her failure was frankly devastating, but hot damn if Kazavon didn’t taste good.

By now, most of the town was crowded near some giant stone building; half of them were probably rude, so Sheila headed for the waterfront instead.

Sandpoint had a beautiful waterfront, overlooked by tall cliffs that dropped to a small, cozy-looking beach. Sheila was pretty sure she’d have a hard time actually climbing the cliffs, down or up, but that likely contributed to what made the beach so beautiful in the first place: untouched by man’s dirty, oily fingers, the beach did not have to answer for what it could have been, or where it sat, only what it was. That wasn’t even taking account of the waters; beautiful and dark, teeming with the occasional bit of kelp peeking over the waterline. The sun was close to setting, giving the waters a warm shimmer Sheila was sure she could feel from here. It was all Sheila could do not to lie down and fall asleep, basking in the warm glow of the day’s dying light.

As she looked along the cliff face, Sheila spotted another person with the same idea as her. Naturally, her first instinct was to go and bother them.

The man, wearing scholarly-looking robes and seemingly transfixed between the bay’s surface and whatever book he was reading, didn’t seem to acknowledge Sheila’s presence as she sat down next to him. “Hi! I’m Sheila. What’cha looking at?”

The scholar gave a brief glance towards Sheila, somewhat incredulous if she had to guess, before looking back to the water. “Oh, nothing, really. Just...do you see the surface of the water?”

Sheila furrowed her brow. “I...guess?”

“The water is burning. Not...not literally of course, no. But given the angle of the sun, and the condition of Sandpoint’s waters, it certainly does _look_ that way, doesn’t it?” Sheila looked back to the water. Now that he mentioned it, it kinda...okay, now it didn’t. “Quite ideal for a coastal town in as storied a land as Varisia. Not quite ideal for any aquatic interlopers.”

“That’s...cool.”

The weird man looked back to his book, studying some symbols that looked really weird before glancing back at Sheila. “My name is Heingheist. I’m a traveller, of sorts. What about you?”

“Oh!” Sheila beamed. “I’m Sheila. I was just, uh,” Wait a minute, why was she here again? Oh, right. “...here to check up on the sewer rat population. You know. See how it is and stuff.”

Heingheist blankly looked back to Sheila, before returning to his book once more. JEEZ he could not keep eye contact! “...Sandpoint doesn’t have a sewer.”

...oh. 

Huh.

...Sheila wasn’t quite sure what to do right now. She was sitting on the edge of a cliff in a town that didn’t quite need her right now, talking to someone she barely knew. At least the sunset was pretty. And at least, even if she wasn’t with friends, she was with someone who tolerated her.

Sheila felt something stir in her chest. It was an odd feeling, one she couldn’t quite place.

...aaaaaaand as soon as she glanced down, the moment was ruined by the revelation that it was merely some funky-looking butterfly.

“You don’t look like you’re from around here, Sheila. Varisia, I mean…” Heingheist punctuated his words with a glance up and down Sheila’s armor. “...unless you’re from some backwater Mushfen village.”

“Oh! You actually got it right!” Sheila grinned, and tried gently shooing the butterfly away (which only really spurned it to take the free real estate atop Sheila’s hood). “Yeah, I’m...I guess I’m an outlander? I dunno. I kinda stay were these one mushrooms grow. Ooh! Do you wanna see?”

Heingheist didn’t answer but Sheila fished an errant shroom from her pouch anyway. “I dunno what they’re called, but they’re really nice! My Aunt Janice told me about them, and like, she’s cool and...well I don’t remember why she gave me these but they’re super nice! Basically, like, they keep you warm, and they make stuff feel fuzzy, and like...do you want some?”

“...I should probably check on Gro’lak. I don’t believe he likes being left in the sun.” Standing up, Heingheist left Sheila alone with the sunset.

_“...the sky is beautiful tonight.”_

* * *

 

By the time Sheila had enough of the ocean, the sun was halfway over the horizon, and nearly the entire town was gathered around the large stone building. It looked like some boring procession, but the rest of the town was probably empty anyways, so what the hell.

Sheila wasn’t a very tall girl; whatever everyone was looking at (besides some dingy old cathedral), she couldn’t quite see it. Indeed, the crowd was packed a bit tighter than the dragon races were, which meant she had a bit of trouble even getting through.

All of a sudden, the roar of the crowd imploded with sound of a great crack. For a moment, things were silent.

Then someone screamed.

Then someone else.

Panic struck the crowd rather quickly, and Sheila fought to avoid being trampled by the scattered remnants of the gathering. The quiet from earlier had rapidly devolved into a cacophony of noise, not just of screaming and running, but of something high-pitched, like giggling.

Either way, the crowd cleared quickly, leaving but a few individuals who stayed behind, weapons drawn. A few of them were familiar: the bearded man from the Ameiko’s inn, a man in armor quite similar to the one who woke her up, and (in a turn that somehow didn’t surprise Sheila) Heingheist, who was currently thumbing through his book. A few corpses littered the ground as well. However, new faces raced across the plaza, chasing dogs and knocking over fruit carts.

Sheila could finally make out the odd noise from before-it was singing.


End file.
